Go us to my protector

“Grasses Feather in” the wind.
Determined swift like an envoy
Dart along the barn, crosswind
Life fills the air inextricably with joy.
Like the joy of a young child.
Running, arms open running... downhill.
When for a second the wild,
Wild, wind, on the deep-wet-moorland, stands still!

Tippling back on her heels…
She’d summersault and then balance in the air.
White-faced like daisy wheels
Pink laced: Grips hold of her neckwear.

Her enameled breath
Is a vortex of living power?
Shuddered cold in death
She fills her lungs like an open flower.

Her face like the very first carved opal
Rounded in its pleasure
Smiles in the mysteries of the marginal
World, mysteries we all treasure.

Like the swift beneath the old cowshed eaves
That’s a glint a specter
Like rushes that retain their leaves
Go us to my protector.